


It's Hard to Miss You (when you're always on the tip of my tongue)

by ibonekoen



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Canon Fix-It, Happy Ending, Multi, handwaved elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibonekoen/pseuds/ibonekoen
Summary: Ashe raised his hands. “Wait. Miranda, I beg you. Don’t kill me.”“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” Miranda hissed as she strode around the table and grabbed the lapel of Ashe’s jacket.“Thomas,” Ashe gasped. “I know where he is.”





	It's Hard to Miss You (when you're always on the tip of my tongue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handhellbasket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handhellbasket/gifts).



The crack of the shot barely had time to reverberate through the air. Flint had even less time to react — a shout of Miranda’s name died on his tongue as the lead ball halted abruptly, inches from Miranda’s temple. Flint swallowed hard, sweat beaded on his brow.

Her brown eyes had gone solid black, pupil and all, and he’d never seen her look so furious. She turned to face the man who’d fired the shot and whispered words in a tongue Flint didn’t recognize. The man clutched his throat as his face turned blue, and the maid beside him screamed as he fell to the floor.

Whispers on Nassau pegged Mrs. Barlow as a witch, and while Flint knew them to be true, he’d never seen her use her spells to harm. Then again, he’d never seen her so infuriated.

She turned her attention to John Ashe, the slimy, conniving coward, who’d gone completely ashen. “Well, now that I’ve taken care of your watchdog,” she said, her voice bitter and callous and brimming with rage, “maybe I’ll just hang you myself.”

Ashe gulped and cut his eyes to Flint, who stalked up behind Miranda and pinned his former friend with a glare. “Don’t look to me for salvation, Ashe,” Flint growled. “You won’t find any here.”

Ashe raised his hands. “Wait. Miranda, I beg you. Don’t kill me.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” Miranda hissed as she strode around the table and grabbed the lapel of Ashe’s jacket.

“Thomas,” Ashe gasped. “I know where he is.”

~*~*~

Neither Miranda nor Flint wanted to believe what Ashe had claimed, not until they laid eyes on Thomas themselves.

The hot Savannah sun beat mercilessly down on them as they approached the gates of the prison plantation Ashe had mentioned. Flint paused just outside the gates and tried to catch his breath, tried not to tremble.

He felt a hand close around his and glanced to his right. Miranda smiled warmly at him. She looked just as tired and apprehensive as he felt, and he exhaled a breath.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to — their shared determination was written in their eyes. Together they moved as one, heads held high, hands clasping each other’s, and they strode through the gates of the prison plantation.

Flint’s men remained outside the gates, awaiting their captain’s signal. If Thomas was there at the plantation, he wouldn’t be for long. Ashe stood among them, his wrists shackled, awaiting his fate.

Together, Miranda and Flint made their way past the startled guards, Miranda waving a hand to silence them. They walked out to the fields, where the workers tilled the plantation’s vast farming grounds.

Flint’s steps faltered as he caught sight of one worker in particular. The man’s back faced them, and he stooped over to tend the row of turned up dirt. The clothes the man wore were plain and disheveled — they’d clearly seen better days — but Flint would’ve known that silhouette anywhere.

“Thomas,” Miranda breathed when Flint couldn’t get his vocal cords to work. “Thomas!”

The man straightened slowly, one hand touching the small of his back, and then he turned. He looked tired and weathered, and his blond hair was more closely cropped that either of them remembered, plus he sported a beard, but it was him. Not a single iota of doubt lingered in either of their minds — their Thomas still lived.

Flint couldn’t be certain who moved first but the next thing he knew, all three of them were enveloped in each other’s arms. Thomas laughed and cried and kissed them both, and even Flint couldn’t honestly claim his eyes were dry.

Miranda dried her eyes with a swipe of her fingers and laughed, feeling lighter than she had in ages. “Come, Thomas. This is a rescue.” She grinned and took his hand, and she nodded at Flint, who smirked and drew his sword, raising it high above his head as he shouted a war cry at his men.

~*~*~

The plantation fire raged hot that terrible summer’s night when the Devil himself paid a visit to Savannah, or so the legend says. A howling banshee at his side, the redhaired demon tore the ground asunder and set the plantation house ablaze, leaving a plume of black smoke that could be seen for miles. He set the prisoners free and offered some of them a place among his crew.

The demon himself retreated into the night, the banshee and their shared lover beside him.

They’re still roaming the seas, some say, laughing and loving and helping the oppressed.


End file.
